


tucked away in our own little corner of the world

by fbawtft



Category: Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby (1974), The Great Gatsby (2013)
Genre: Dummies, I love them though, M/M, around october at least, i worked so LONG on this!, idk how else to tag w/o spoiling, jay is subtly gay for nick he just doesnt know how to approach it, like since the end of last year!, pining idiots!, theyre so good
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-11 07:52:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13519809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fbawtft/pseuds/fbawtft
Summary: As the day went on, Gatsby’s softer remarks, expressions and his touches became more frequent. At this same flow of time, I started seeing him in a different light and realized that I had become (un)regretfully smitten with Jay Gatsby.I could be hanged for this.ORNick forgets all about his rent and is told he has to either pay up or beat it and he mentions it to Jay in passing who offers to have Nick move in in the room near his in a completely not "You're my best friend and I think I may be gay for you but I can't express it so please take my offer" way.





	tucked away in our own little corner of the world

I hadn't been kept up on my rent lately and now the landlord was telling me that I "only had a few days to pack up and get out" as he so nicely put it.    
  
My miskeepings on my house might have had something to do with the fact that I was always out and with someone; I was always with Daisy and Tom, Tom and Myrtle, Jordan, Daisy and Jay, Jay. I was put somewhere at sometime at someplace with someone and thus, the decline of remembrance for my monthly pay to my landlord.    
  
I had nonchalantly brought this up with Jay when we had tea sometime ago, hoping it would be a short mention and he would let it fly right over his head. Fortunately and unfortunately, he didn't. He zoned out of whatever I was saying after my rent, I assume, and focused on making a plan or some logic to help me.    
  
"Not only has my pay been low right now, but I've also been going everywhere with you, my cousins, and Jordan which is making me late on my rent and I don't exactly have the money up front to pay my landlord. I fear this is calling for my removal from West Egg," I laughed, trying to make joke. Gatsby didn't find it funny, he didn't laugh, or maybe he was too focused on something, probably my mention of Daisy.   
  
"You say you're late on your rent, old sport?"   
  
I eyed him, watching his pensive expression, "Yes, I do believe I said something of the sort."   
  
"Well, then. Rather than continue living there.. Why not move into one of my spare rooms?" At my audible intake of breath, he continued hurriedly, "It's just until you get enough money to pay him back, unless you don't, which is perfectly just fine, too! I won't charge you - I wouldn't charge a friend - and plus, you're almost always here, staying with me after nearly every party, helping the staff pick up sometimes, it wouldn't feel like anything new to me, Nick. I.. It would actually be lovely to share a house with someone again, old sport."   
  
I was taken aback by how much he was able to talk in such a short amount of time (I then realized I had heard him talk that fast once, when he told me first about Oxford). But I was also flattered that he'd offer me to take up a spare room for either my choice of temporarily or not temporarily. My mind flew into imagination.    
  
Imagining living in the same spacious house with Gatsby would still seem like being his neighbor. I’d still wake up to him coming at my door and calling me down himself rather than having a butler do it for it - because I was a close friend or not, I’m not sure. Nothing would really change in our relationship except for the proximity of being near each other - but has that really ever stopped us? - and we would be even closer. After thinking this through in my head, going through what would be good and bad about it, there was hardly any bad things about this scenario, I told him I’d give him my answer in time, a week at most.

 

He smiled, the biggest and truest smile I’d seen him give yet. “Sounds wonderful, old sport! Phone me when you make your decision immediately and I’ll come over and help you pack!”

 

I couldn’t imagine Jay really helping me pack up boxes upon boxes of books and knick knacks but he surprised me, like he always did, and came over at least ten minutes after I had given up trying to find ways to save my eviction from my cozy little cottage and phoned him. He showed up at my doorstep in trousers, a button down that wasn’t buttoned at the tops with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and suspenders. I feel embarrassed to say that my face flushed at his attire and eagerness to help me. 

 

Hours into our packing - we started in with my bedroom on the second floor, I hastily went to pack up my dresser but he was insistent on taking care of that - and we were only done with the second floor and halfway through the first. 

 

“Old sport, you know you really do have a ton of books. I never really noticed how many you had until now. Seems like when you’re putting away old things that you truly notice how much of it you really have,” He studied the worn, brown leather cover of Marcel Proust’s  _ Swann’s Way _ and folded it over in his hands and let his fingers glide across it liberally. He blinked, taking in a big breath and snapped his head back up at me, a small smile playing on his lips. “Some old things just have to stay tucked away in the back of the closest, back of the box, back of the mind, away from sight, no? Things can only be drawn out and chased for so long, old sport.”

 

I had an inkling that he was alluding to something else that wasn’t just about packing but I didn’t bring the subject up again. Instead, I stayed quiet for a minute. He changed the subject a minute later to something much lighter and less awkward. “Well, in any case, we should bring over the first few boxes. How many can you carry, old sport?”

 

Startled by the unexpected question, I spluttered, cleared my throat and replied with, “Two and one small one on top, I think” and a pink face. Jay nodded and wordlessly brought me two boxes to pile up in my arms and then another to place on top of it.

 

“Shall we?” 

 

I nodded and gestured a finger towards the door, letting him open it as he only carried two boxes tucked under his arm.    
  
\---   
  
On the quiet and awkward walk through the back way to his magnificent house, I took a look at my surroundings as if I’ve never seen them before. I really studied them this time as we weren’t rushing like we would always do, instead, the spring air was cool and pleasantly warm and we took our time in relishing in it. It wouldn’t be here for long as summer was fast approaching and the oppressive heat was sure to come and take us hostage for the next few months. I thought this, letting myself get lost in the descriptive words that floated aimlessly in my head. I had half a mind to pay little attention to the (now insignificant) monstrous houses in the distance across the water. I had no more business there and neither did Jay (I distinctly remember saying something along the lines of “You can’t repeat the past” to him and his naive response to my words). 

 

“I can smell you thinking from here, old sport.”

 

“Sorry, what?” He laughed, more genuine than I had ever him laugh in all the time I’ve known him. 

 

“You’re thinking too loudly.” 

 

“I am not!” I defended myself a bit too hotly as his smile had withered a little. It was still there, the smile, just not as brightly.    
  
“You are, too, I can hear and smell it,” he joked. He lagged in his steps in front to wait for me to catch up to him. Continuing our trek with him at my side, he looked down and quirked a brow, a lilting smirk dancing on his lips. “What are you thinking about?”

 

Noncommittally, I shrugged. “Just that I hadn’t really had the chance to admire the surroundings of our houses. The shrubbery, the water - the shore, for that matter - the way that the breeze sings through the grass, bushes, trees. When you lay on the grass and look up and see green from the towering trees on the canvas of the sky, you start to realize that they compliment each other -” Jay looked up, hoping to see the image I had painted for him “- and are made for each other. They contrast one another and go hand-in-hand. They bring true meaning to the phrase ‘opposites attract.’” I sniffed, scrunching up my nose as the embarrassment flooded in. When Gatsby didn’t respond, I got curious as to why he was quiet and looked to my right.

 

He wasn’t there. 

 

I looked back and was met with a long stretch of neck and a strong jaw nearly slack as Gatsby leaned his head back, catching a glimpse of the thoughts I voiced.

 

“What is it?”

 

“I’m picturing your thoughts,” he commented, and inhaled and closed his eyes, slowly exhaling. “And you’re right. You’re absolutely right. The sky does play as a bright canvas that brings the eye to focus on it and the trees. The contrast in colors is astounding, really.” A small smile grew on his lips. “How do you do that? Find and analyze your surroundings? How are you able to word everything like that?”

 

I snorted, turning my head away to hide embarrassment. “Did I never tell you that I wanted to pursue a career in writing? When I came to New York, to West Egg, I had dropped all my writing dreams and picked up book upon book on bonds. I needed to make money somehow and with the economy booming then, what was the better job - writing or selling bonds?”

 

“I suppose you’re right, old sport,” Gatsby chewed on the inside of his cheek. “I wouldn’t have ever known you intended to be an author until you just told me. You do seem like the type to be a writer. The quiet, observing, studious type.” He mused. 

 

“That’s because I was. Is. I don’t know anymore, to be totally honest with you. I’ve had one career and one almost career. I guess I’m still an observer, just not, uh, taking down notes.” 

 

“But you are. Not physically, but in your head. I can see it when you’re looking at someone or a group of people and all you can do is to just observe them and then you get this look like you’re judging them and I can see it, I can  _ see  _ it, you look them up and down and… evaluate them. Nick, you’re practically a walking journal full of everyone you’ve ever come into contact with! Even me. I’d pay to know what you’ve evaluated about me but I would also love to stay blissfully unaware.” 

 

“Seems like I’m not the only one who watches people.” I didn’t comment on him saying my name.

 

\----

 

We made seven more trips to and from my house to Gatsby’s. During the last trip, Jay finally commented, “For someone who lives so modestly, you have so many knick-knacks.”

 

“It happens. For the most part, I just really don’t have the time to go through my things so it just accumulates. I just hope that my things don’t leak out into the rest of your house.”

 

Gatsby started laughing as one of the butlers opened up the doors for us the pass through. “I hardly think that’ll happen. Besides, you’ll have more than enough space to spread your items out.” 

 

That certainly piqued my interest in the slightest. “What do you mean?”

 

“I mean that you’ll have one of the bigger rooms in the house. Big enough to even rival mine but our rooms will be in proximity to each other. You wouldn’t have to run two miles in the halls just to get to me,” he joked, letting a smile stretch over his lips. 

 

“Please, my voice would be loud enough to carry,” another joke. His cheeks reddened at that, I felt a twinge of pride.

 

Making our way through the simplistically ornate halls of the house, he led me through back to my new room for the seventh and final time for today. He set his two boxes down and I mirrored his action. We stood there for a minute or so in the silence that washed over the room after the end of the shuffling of boxes and clothes. “I-- I suppose you don’t need a tour of the place..?”

 

“I think I know my way around, yeah.”

 

“Alright. Then what about your -”

 

“- Help with the boxes would be great.” After a moment, “But if you have other business to attend to, then I can do it -”

 

“I don’t have any other business.”  _ You are my business,  _ he seemed to say.

 

“...Alright, then. Would you like to start with my abundance of trinkets? Give them a new home to take up space in before I jump in and take away your fun and ruin whatever layout you have planned.” After a moment, I chewed my lip. “Sorry, I’m rambling. I’m gonna take my clothes,” I hurried past him and grabbed the box with CLOTHES written on it in big, blocky letters and took it to the far side of the room and started opening the drawers of the dresser and setting the box on the flat surface of it.

 

Jay, still turned facing me, was beaming at me. I didn’t see it fully but I caught it in glimpses through the mirror that was resting just above the dresser. He stood there, watching me and my red facing stuff clothes away for at least a minute before he turned and started putting my books and bookends up on my shelves. When his attention towards me shifted to the books, I looked up then, watching him reach into the box on the desk and then stretch his arm up to place it neatly against the one behind it, spine out and all shades of brown. 

 

I have never lived with anyone outside of family until now. (Living at Yale was different, the others felt like family in an estranged way, I suppose. The army was the same.)

 

Despite the vastness of Jay’s house, I started imagining a domestic type of life here; the whole waking up to breakfast in bed made by either of us seemed a bit far fetched as he did have a cooking staff here. Still, it was nice to think of it but I couldn’t exactly tell what room we were in.

 

The pleasantness of the thought running around in my head started making me look forward for a future that might never happen - I was sure he was still deeply in love with Daisy - and made me lose focus in what I was doing. The plain, folded shirt in my hands took role as the victim of my distant staring. My shuffling, or lack thereof, I presume, entitled Gatsby a, “I can hear you thinking from here,” with a quiet laugh.

 

To which I responded with a joking quip in my voice, “No, you can’t, humans aren’t biologically engineered to be able to read minds or hear thoughts. And unless you’ve suddenly become the World’s First Advanced Human to Read Minds and Hear Thoughts then I’m most certain that you cannot hear what I’m thinking at all.”

 

“That’s an elaborate response for ‘No, you can’t.’” 

 

“I have a lot on my mind, at the moment.”

 

“Do you wanna tell me?”

 

“Are you going to judge me?”

 

“Would I ever judge you?”

 

“Who knows. Maybe. If I tell you what’s on my mind, you might and it’ll completely change everything,” I paused, trying not to lose it yet. “That is, unless it does change everything but not in a pessimistic way.”

 

“You’ve got me intrigued, old sport.”

 

I couldn’t tell him. I can’t. I don’t even know what I feel yet, let alone confess to him my current stream of thought and have him change his view entirely about him. That’s the last thing I want.

 

“I was just thinking of… of how extra loud it’ll be now for me when you throw one of your amazing parties,” I lied. 

 

Gatsby laughed, pure and unrelenting in what I couldn’t place. “Oh, old sport, I don’t plan on throwing anymore parties. Not after what happened,” absentmindedly, he scratched at his chest, a forlorn smile softening the broader one he had a minute ago. 

 

I had poured salt on a still healing wound and I felt like shit because of it. 

 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply--”

 

“No, no, old sport, it’s perfectly reasonable that you would think that. I promise, I’m not trying to sound rude here. I just.. There’s no use for the parties anymore, now is there?” He laughed quietly and shrugged. 

 

“Well, no, but they were fun, I guess.”

 

“ _ Nick _ .”

 

His tone was one of joking exasperation. I tried to give him my best sincere look but I cracked.

 

“Okay, no I can’t everyone who came was stuck up had their heads up in their privates.”

 

Gatsby looked amused, smiling and gesturing me to continue. 

 

“Everyone was so… entitled! They acted like they could do everything they wanted without consequence! They were literal party animals who didn’t know the last thing about shreds of respect for another person’s house that they left trashed the next morning!” I breathed heavily, pushed my hair back into place behind my ear, and cleared my throat. “Sorry. That was… improper of me.”

 

“Not at all, old sport,” Gatsby chuckled. “By all means, be my guest and let out as much pent up frustrations you have about those nameless guests. I’m all ears.”

 

“Don’t take that tone with me, I’m not a petulant child,” I puffed my cheeks and turned back to the drawer, staring down at the neatly stacked shirts and glanced up into the mirror to see Gatsby making his way towards me. 

 

Quickly, but noticeably, I ducked my head back down and jumped when his hand rested on my shoulder. It was the first time he had ever really touched me in that spot - or like that at all - and it made me feel warm and my face heat up even more. 

 

As the day went on, Gatsby’s softer remarks, expressions and his touches became more frequent. At this same flow of time, I started seeing him in a different light and realized that I had become (un)regretfully smitten with Jay Gatsby.

 

I could be hanged for this.


End file.
